


Revenge is best served @

by Perpetual Motion (perpetfic)



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Fluff, Future Fic, M/M, OFC - Freeform, Shitty and Lardo and Ransom and Holster, have cameos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-14
Updated: 2016-10-14
Packaged: 2018-08-22 10:57:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8283424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perpetfic/pseuds/Perpetual%20Motion
Summary: The ESPN hockey anchors take a cheap shot. Bitty takes one back.





	

Bitty's in the Spouse and Other Partners section of the arena, chatting happily with Nadine--recently engaged to the Falconers third-string forward--when his phone pings, then pings again, then pings again and again.

"Did you post a new recipe to Twitter before you got here?" Nadine asks.

"No, I'm on hiatus for the next three weeks so Jack and I can get some time in between games while he's on the road." Bitty's phone is still pinging when he pulls it from his pocket.

==The Boys==

 **Shitty:** DOUCHE AND TURD NEED TO BE ENDED NOW

HOW DARE THEY

 **Holster:** Did you hear their tone? Fuck that tone. Fuuuuuck it.

 **Ransom:** Bits, are you okay? Do you need anything?

 **Shitty:** He needs us to fuck them up. 

 **Lardo:** Guys. Seriously. Calm the fuck down.

 **Shitty:** I WILL NOT HAVE OUR MAN'S MAN DEGRADED LIKE THAT

 **Bitty:** Um. Guys. I'm in the stands with Nadine waiting for the game to start. I have literally zero idea what you're losing your minds over.

"Everything okay?" Nadine asks.

Bitty shrugs. "I don't know. Shitty's mad about something the ESPN guys said." He turns his phone so Nadine can see the group chat.

"Douche and Turd?" She asks with a laugh.

"Those two guys have been taking cheap shots at Jack since college. Someone renamed them years ago--I think it was Dex?--and Shitty ran with it because, well--"

"Shitty," Nadine says.

"Shitty," Bitty agrees. His phone pings again. He glances at it. 

 **Lardo:** Get on the ESPN livestream, go back to 14:57. 

 **Shitty:** ARE WE GONNA FUCK THEM UP

 **Holster:** I am starting to think maybe Shitty's a little worked up about this.

 **Ransom:** Lards, how much coffee has he had?

 **Lardo:** God, don't even talk to me about that. He's in court Monday for opening arguments in an emancipation case and he’s stressed as fuck.

 **Shitty:** I HAVEN'T EVEN HAD THAT MUCH.

 **Lardo:** I fucking saw you restart the coffee maker at nine this morning, you liar.

 **Ransom:** Okay, I am muting my phone. I cannot watch Shitty coffee-implode.

 **Holster:** Same.

 **Lardo:** You cowards.

 **Bitty:** I’m gonna check the livestream and mute, too. Godspeed, Lards.

 **Lardo:** Send pie.

 **Bitty:** Of course.

Bitty closes his text messages and opens the ESPN app. Nadine watches over his shoulder as he brings up the live feed and takes it back to the time stamp Lardo listed.

For the first few seconds, nothing of interest happens, just Douche and Turd running down who's first line for the Pens. Then, there's a shot of Spouse and Partners section for the Falconers, and Bitty and Nadine talking to one another.

"Quick shot of the spouses and partners," says Turd. "As usual, we see Eric Bittle, who never seems to miss a home game, and from what we've seen, very few away games."

"The life of a trophy husband has some perks," Douche says. "Especially with the pay bump Zimmermann got after winning the Cup last year."

Bitty rolls his eyes and closes the app. "Oh, for the love."

Nadine laughs. "Do they not know what you do?"

"Well, it's not hockey or modeling," Bitty nudges Nadine when he says that, and she grins. "So, no, apparently not."

His phone starts pinging all over again, and he realizes he forgot to mute it. It's Twitter. Bitty opens the app and sees there are two dozen tweets and counting demanding Douche and Turd apologize to Bitty for their snide comment.

Bitty heaves a sigh. "Nadine, save me from overzealous fans." 

Nadine has her own phone out. "Are you kidding? This is amazing." She's scrolling through Twitter. "You should respond."

"I am not giving those idiots the satisfaction."

Nadine gives him a hard side-eye. "Eric Bittle, Southern Gentleman. I said _respond_ , not give them satisfaction."

Bitty grins. "Forgive me, Miss Alabama 2015, where did my Southern manners go? He opens the camera app on his phone. "Care to get in on this?"

"I would _love_ to be in on this."

 _@ericbittle:_ Enjoying my usual pre-game catch-up w/ _@queennadine_! My favorite ritual that isn't kissing _@jzimmermann_ for good luck!

"Good?" Bitty asks, showing Nadine the tweet.

"Perfect."

Bitty posts it, along with a photo of the two of them smiling widely, their heads together. His Twitter mentions light up again, this time with people liking the tweet.

==Jack==

 **Bitty:** Don't know if you saw, but Shitty's on at least carafe #2 of coffee and mad at Douche and Turd.

 **Jack:** Tater just did it as a dramatic reading, then Kentucky brought up the feed, and now you have 23 manly hockey men ready to destroy the world for you.

 **Bitty:** Well, that's very kind, but let them know Nadine and I are on it.

 **Jack:** Kentucky requests, since they insulted you, I pay bail for you both. I've agreed.

Bitty shows Nadine the exchange, and she laughs. "Why do they always think we're going to do something illegal?"

"These are men who smash each other against things for a living. They don't know anything else."

"Tragic."

"So tragic," Bitty agrees, and they laugh together.

*

The Falconers win 3-1, with Jack making the third goal in the last minutes of the third period. Bitty and Nadine cheer like crazy as the Falconers leave the ice and blow kisses when Jack and Kentucky look up and wave. 

As they're gathering their things up to leave, Bitty unmutes his phone and checks his feed.

==Jack==

 **Jack:** What's my response if anyone asks about Douche and Turd?

 **Bitty:** Play dumb. You were prepping for the game. You have no idea what they're talking about. Your husband didn't mention anything.

 **Jack:** You're going full bless their hearts, aren't you?

 **Bitty:** They started it.

*

Bitty and Nadine wait by the players' exit for Jack and Kentucky. There's a small group of fans in attendance as well. They go from a quiet hum of excitement to jumping and shouting the moment the door opens. Tater comes out first, as he usually does. He loves signing autographs and talking to fans, and he's large enough that players who aren't in the mood to socialize can sneak around him.

Kentucky comes out next, winking at Nadine before chatting up a fan. A few seconds later, Jack slides out around Tater, ball cap pulled low, and makes his way to where Bitty and Nadine are waiting.

"Hey," he says, leaning in to kiss Bitty on the cheek.

"Hi," Bitty replies.

"Nadine."

"Jack." She makes a shooing motion with her hands. "You two get on out of here. We'll catch up later."

"Thanks," Jack says, giving her a grateful smile.

Nadine and Bitty hug goodbye, then Bitty takes Jack's hand as they head towards the parking lot.

"Your goal was beautiful," Bitty says. "I think they replayed it ten times."

"If Ticky hadn't gotten the puck to me, it wouldn't have happened," Jack replies.

"It was an excellent team effort," Bitty says, giving Jack an arch look at his modesty.

"Thank you."

Bitty unlocks the car with his fob, and they get in, Bitty driving. When the doors are closed, Bitty leans over, and Jack leans in return, and they share a real kiss, soft and intimate as they've always been.

When they pull away from each other, Jack sighs and presses his head back against the headrest with his eyes closed. "Do I want to know what revenge you have planned for Douche and Turd?"

"Nothing mean," Bitty says. "Just...pointed."

"So, you're not going to take Shitty's advice and glitter bomb them?"

"Please, too easy. For a dig like that, they get so much more."

Jack chuckles as Bitty starts the car. "Let me know how to help."

"Oh, you just play hockey, honey. Let the Southerners handle this one."

*

==The Boys==

 **Bitty:** Too subtle?

The attached picture shows a huge gift basket. It has two _Bittle Bakes_ cookbooks, a small selection of Bitty's cookware line, and two dozen double chocolate fudge cookies. There's also a short letter:

_To whom it may concern:_

_Just wanted to send a thank you basket to you boys at ESPN who have been so integral in keeping Jack's name in rotation on- and off-season. You boys look a little wan under those lights, so I thought some homemade cookies and a copy of my best selling cookbook could help bring some color to your cheeks. I included a few pieces of my upcoming cookware line. Hold fast to that! It's already sold out on the pre-order level, and they told me it's going to be weeks before they can do another run._

_Can't wait to see you boys at the next game! I'm lucky I get to go to so many, but that's a perk of successful self-employment; you can make your own hours and wear your new Armani blazer to watch your Stanley Cup winning husband win another game._

_Bless,_

_Eric Bittle_

**Shitty:** Yes. I like this. Burn them. BURN THEM.

 **Holster:** Can we get cookies?

 **Ransom:** Dude. We have the cookbook. I will make you the cookies.

 **Lardo:** You still owe me pie.

 **Bitty:** Revenge first. Then pie.

 **Lardo:** I don't even know you anymore.

Jack surveys the basket. "Looks good," he says. "You sure you don't want to tweet a picture of it before the courier gets here?"

"Oh, honey, no. That takes away half the fun."

Jack gives Bitty a confused look. "Half the fun?"

"It has to cross so many desks before it makes it to Douche and Turd. Let social media handle it."

"Well, I won't pretend like I'm the expert on that," Jack says. The buzzer sounds from the downstairs door, and Jack presses the button to unlock it. "That'll be the courier."

 _@ESPN:_ Hey, _@ericbittle_ , what do the rest of our anchors have to do to get in on this?

A picture of the gift basket is attached.

 _@ericbittle: .@ESPN:_ Well, I suppose I'll have to marry a different sports star.

 _@jzimmermann: .@ericbittle @ESPN:_ Veto.

*

 _@ESPNbaseball:_ Okay, now maybe we're jealous of hockey.

 _@ericbittle: .@ESPNbaseball:_ Donate some money to a local pee wee team, and I'll see what I can do.

 _@ESPNbaseball: .@ericbittle:_ We call it little league.

 _@ericbittle: .@ESPNbaseball:_ I can't help if you don't know how to name things.

*

 _@ESPNfootball:_ Joke’s on _@ESPN_ and _@ESPNbaseball_. We've been busting out the _@ericbittle_ cookbook for months.

A picture of a clearly beloved copy of Bitty's cookbook is attached, with the whole football anchor team and cameramen surrounding it and giving a thumbs up.

"You're killing them with kindness," Jack says, chuckling.

"Well, that was the plan, but I honestly had no idea the football guys were so into my food!" Bitty looks at Jack, eyes bright. "That's so neat!"

 _@ericbittle: @ESPNfootball:_ Where can I donate some funds to a worthy football program? Loyalty like that should be rewarded.

It's two days before the hockey guys actually post a picture of the gift basket. They include the note. 

 _@ESPNhockey:_ Think _@ericbittle_ might have burned us for our "trophy husband" comment.

 _@ericbittle: .@ESPNhockey_ : The only thing I burn are uneducated people. I'm a renowned chef. @jzimmermann's the trophy husband.

 _@jzimmermann: .@ericbittle, @ESPNhockey:_ You think they’d know that since you managed to bake a cake in the Cup.

==The Boys==

 **Lardo:** Your revenge is clearly complete. Where the fuck is my pie.

**Author's Note:**

> Self-betaed; let me know if I missed a typo!


End file.
